


A Sunless Sky

by Aliada



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Egypt, And he is not your usual supernatural entity either, Angst, But I felt it's more or less in tune with the overall craziness of Egyptian mythology, But no too much of it, Drama, Gen, More or less heavy on the use of Egyptian concepts, Not in the traditional sense of the word at least, Philosophy, So please read the notes beforehand, Still: please proceed with caution, Warning: Fili is NOT a real person in this, What he IS might evoke some confusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23857186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aliada/pseuds/Aliada
Summary: Kili feels strangely driven to the Sun, whereas other, more ‘popular’ celestial entities like the Moon and the Stars, leave him indifferent and even a little scared. He doesn’t want to be infallible and he doesn’t want to be trapped in the sky for all eternity. Instead, he bathes in the light of the Sun and lets himself believe that warmth he feels is just as real as the comforting touch of the rays on his skin. That is, until a stranger shows him what real warmth is.
Relationships: Fíli & Kíli (Tolkien)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	A Sunless Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Linane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linane/gifts).



> Please read the notes! Some of them are crucial for understanding of the story. 
> 
> 1\. I don’t offer any concrete chronological point for this setting, and neither Kili nor Kili’s father are intended to imitate any historical figure. What I was interested in is the shift between pre-unification understanding of reign (rulers as kings) versus the beginning of Pharaoh era (rulers as gods). Therefore, the approximate timeframe is the Old Kingdom, the reign of the very first dynasties when it was believed that dying pharaohs became stars. Titles such as ‘son of Ra’ came later on, and so did the belief about Pharaoh’s afterlife mirroring Ra’s journey. Although first Pharaohs were manifestations of Horus on earth, I argue that that manifestation wasn’t as specific as that of Ra because in Egyptian mythology Horus is a god of Sky and Sky is seen as a relatively vague entity, behaviors of which are hardly predictable, whereas behavior of Sun is always clear and can be represented most prominently through the concept of _neheh_ – cyclic time that comes and goes (more about that later).
> 
> 2\. I couldn’t find much reliable information on the shift between Horus worship to Ra worship, but my ‘headcanon’ is that Horus was overly all-encompassing and Pharaoh’s power needed a more solid, earth-bound and, most-importantly, earth-relevant representation, hence the switch to the Sun cult as an attempt to diminish vagueness.
> 
> 3\. I intended to include it into footnotes, but since it’s crucial to understanding of the primary conflict, I will also include it here to make it more visible (and potentially readable). The basic idea is that Egyptian cosmology didn’t have the concept of space – only time. To ‘compensate’ for the lack, two meanings of time are known.
> 
>  _Neheh_ is our usual understanding of time as something that comes and goes. Something constantly changing but at the same time cyclic. For instance, a sun’s daily cycle is neheh.
> 
>  _Djet_ is unfamiliar to us. Sometimes it’s mistakenly described as ‘space’ because it’s: a) stable, b) always completed, c) exists on a global scale. In other words, it’s a time that has already underwent all possible changes and reaches a completely new – ethereal – level. The most eloquent example would be a star-filled night sky as a representation of the universe. For us, it’s obviously space, for ancient Egyptians it was a version of time. Hence the belief that earlier Pharaohs transformed into stars after death or, in other words, entered the realm of undisturbed forever-time. 
> 
> Everything else can be found in the footnotes. Enjoy!

_Th_ e _earth is made waste_

_the sun doesn't rise_

_moon doesn't appear, it no longer_ _exists._

_(T. Eliot) **[i]**_

The sun, round and relentless, was burning the sky right through.

When Kili was little, he believed that there could never be a sunless sky. That thought, it seemed to him, by itself defied the natural order of things. Which was warmth, prosperity and magic. Magic above all things.

In truth, warmth was an overbearing, constant heat, almost intoxicating in its dulling, withering effect. And yet, no one had ever complained about it, as if relentless sun rays only touched their bodies, but never their spirits. 

In the far-off but at the same time so very yesterday-like childhood, Kili was told numerous tales about ancient, sad lands, destined to exist in darkness.

“How did they live?” he would ask and receive indulgent headshakes in response.

“There was no ‘they’, little prince. These lands were sad not only in appearance, but also in the fact that no life could exist on them.”

Then, Kili would lift his head and look at the huge, orange sun in the sky, sensing the answer to the not-yet asked question,

“Yes, little prince. It was Life that made sad lands merry, and they remain such.”

Kili would nod, satisfied with the answer, but then something in his soul would fuss again, creating new questions.

“It’s not always merry, though?”

“No, but it’s always in accordance with ma’at. And _that_ is what’s most important,”

Kili was repeated that answer countless times, but he still couldn’t understand it.

He knew when he was sad, and he knew when he was merry. That was simple and straightforward, and right. Why would anyone need something else?

The question was eating hungrily at his mind, until, one day, it created even more questions.

Having just met his new teacher, Kili decided, as usual, to test his level of boredom. He’d been doing this experiment for several years now, since his nana had told him of sad lands. Very boring teachers would omit the topic right away and force him to do even more boring counting exercises. Some of them would answer with an old saying about ma’at and leave it at that. Some would give him confused looks and some would even frown. Kili didn’t like to be frowned on. His father did it a lot, and the mere mention of it was enough to make Kili feel like crying. And he wasn’t allowed to cry.

That day, however, he was finally allowed to have his question answered. And frowning, or crying, was the furthest thing from him mind.

“Is there something in this merry world that makes you sad?” his surprisingly not-boring teacher would ask.

Kili didn’t need much time to think on that. Disease and death were the saddest things[ii].

“And do you know that there was once a time when no death existed at all?[iii]” he was asked again.

Kili would move impatiently at the edge of his seat and shook his head no.

“Yes, no death existed on the sad lands. But there was no life either. Sun brought life--”

“--and death,” Kili would finish, his voice barely a whisper.

“Life and death. Merry and sad. One doesn’t exist without the other. Where there is no one, there is no other as well. And that’s the answer to your question, future pharaoh: if merry exists, sad will exist as well, because without it there is no merry. And that’s why the world is never just one thing, but a dance of different things.”

“A dance?” Kili would ask, barely able to hide the trembling in his voice.

“If you miss a right step at the right time, the entire dance can be ruined. And that’s what happens in the world: sad comes after merry, and merry comes after sad.”

Kili’s breath would hitch in his throat and he would regret that he couldn’t see the Sun now. He would lift his eyes to his teacher, to ask more, to learn more, and would only see a dimly lit empty room. He would run outside in a fruitless attempt to find the one who had answered his question and brought a painful clarity to his mind, only to have an utter fruitlessness of it proven again and again.

It’s been seven years, and although he was by now positively sick of hearing theories that secretly, and very diplomatically, ridiculed his very vivid imagination, he still knew that that calm, soothing voice and those golden locks were too massive a feat for his then-childish imagination, and so was a subtle scent of sun-filled air.

***

He was going to be made a Regent next day. He was going to share his Father’s responsibilities. His future _regal_ responsibilities.

Kili wanted to cry,

There was literally no reason why he should want that, and yet, he did. He didn’t cry for years. In fact, he wasn’t even sure he remembered how to.

He let his body to distract itself with a satisfying inhale of fresh, sun-baked air.

It was one of those impossibly warm summer evenings he’d cherished so greatly as a child.

 _A child_. He was never going to be a child again. He was never going to run away from what disgusted or frightened him. He was never going to hide and pretend that the caressing touch of the setting sun was everything there was to know about life. Everything there was to experience. Now, he was more. _Needed_ to be more. He could no longer ask questions and rejoice at unexpected discoveries. Now, he was supposed to know the answer to every single one of them.

His father was relatively proud of him. He knew that, and that knowledge only served to further fuel his fear of failing. Sometimes, he wished there would be someone else. To take on the burden. To rule. To be confident and unwavering. He had been taught to do all these things, and he had no choice but to be a diligent student. So he listened and repeated these lessons, time after time. Pharaohs were meant to rule. To be all-knowing. To _be gods_.

He didn’t feel like he knew all. At times, he felt like he didn’t know anything. How could he be a successor of the one who embodied endless, infinite power of the sky? Moon and the Stars. They were enticing to look at, but Kili had always been somewhat shaken by the regal coldness of their light. Infallible. Ethereal. Forever-there. He’d been told countless tales of their living and breathing nature but these tales only nurtured his mind and never his heart.

At all, times, coldness remained and so did the apprehension of some day losing what he was and replacing it with what _they_ were. His father… no, his Pharaoh was one of them, whereas his father was lost somewhere amidst stern lectures on impersonal obedience and disapproving glares when Kili’s version of obedience wasn’t satisfactory. It was a dull, almost ancient ache, routinely suppressed by just as impersonal praises for his achievements. They conversed frequently, but Kili never dared ask questions out of the usual ‘today’s agenda’ scope.

He had once, and the memory of it haunted him still.

His father didn’t get angry or impatient as he feared. Instead, he spoke very calmly. Almost soothingly, and that tranquility made Kili shiver.

_“Humans, my son? We are only humans before we begin our regal journey. After that, we can’t be humans anymore.”_

His look was almost indulgent and Kili let himself relax for a moment. And, as it ever was with him, relaxation came with the urge to ask questions.

_“But didn’t kings used to be humans?”_

His father went silent for a short, intense moment, his expression unreadable. Kili bit his lip in anticipation.

 _“You know your history well,”_ a subtle smile ghosted over Pharaoh’s features, _“But we’re not kings. We’re Pharaohs. Kings are the tale of the past.”_

Kili was only too aware of his quickened breathing and a heap of insistent questions eating away at his mind, but he didn’t dare ask a single one of them.

The Pharaoh gave him a thoughtful look.

 _“And now you’re wondering what transforms humans into pharaohs?”_ he asked and Kili nodded urgently, feeling a thick layer of fog enter his head. Could it be that he would finally get his answer?

_“Listen attentively now. It’s not one of your counting lessons to be repeated and then instantly forgotten at the first sign of a distraction. I don’t want it to simply settle in your mind, That’s not enough. It has to settle in your heart as well.”_

Kili, not capable of even nodding, lowered his head in respectful acknowledgement.

His head was tilted up, and the cool touch on his chin burned right through him.

_“Strength. Power. Infallibility. That’s the only answer. To your questions. To your doubts. That’s your irreversible right to rule. While others fall, you must rise. When you fall, not a single soul must know as weakness is your biggest enemy. It makes you fall not once, but constantly. A falling Pharaoh is not a Pharaoh, and without a Pharaoh there is no ma’at. Do you know what ma’at is, my heir?”_

Kili wanted to cite one of his teacher’s passages, but his lips betrayed him.

 _“It’s a dance,”_ he whispered before his consciousness registered the slip and made him blink in disbelief.

The Pharaoh raised his eyebrows and, for a fraction of a second, Kili was overwhelmed by positively _fatherly_ amusement in his eyes before it clouded by a heavier expression.

_“Apparently, I need to have a word with your teachers and their… liberate ways of defining things,”_

_“No!”_ Kili protested before he could stop himself, then shrank under the disapproving gaze directed at him but pushed on, _“I mean, it’s not their fault. I’m the one who came up with that… Please forgive me.”_

Last words felt heavy and wrong on his tongue but he said them nevertheless.

Now, the look directed at him was analyzing. Kili resisted the urge to squirm.

 _“You may answer me the second time,”_ came the final verdict.

Kili steeled himself, pushed images of golden-haired teacher out of his mind, and adjusted his response.

_“It’s a divine order. A justice. It’s what you do, my Lord.”_

The words felt cold and detached, just like the stars in the sky.

A part of Kili hoped that the answer would earn him a praise or at least a nod of approval. He even hoped that it would be enough to alleviate the feelings of dissatisfaction rooted deep inside of him.

Instead, just a minute later, his dissatisfaction was coupled with a subtle trace of anxiety.

_“That’s correct. But you don’t believe what you’re saying, and that’s what bothers me most of all. I hope you will one day. Because otherwise you’ll never find peace.”_

Kili hung his head at the veiled rebuke and thought that he was already intimately familiar with that condition.

But he still had one more question that couldn’t be left un-asked, so he battled the anxious voice inside insistently advising him to nod and agree, and let his instincts guide him.

_“I do believe the tales, my Lord. And I do believe in your power. But when I look in the mirror, nothing of that is reflected in my eyes. And nothing is reflected in the eyes of those who look at me.”_

Some part of him knew that these words should bring him shame but there was only confusion and emptiness in its place.

His father’s eyes finally lit up with an honest emotion and Kili braced himself.

_“That’s exactly what I speak of. You’re my son, and soon enough you’ll be my Regent. I cannot change either of these facts and neither can you. We’re bound by fate, and we shall execute it.”_

_“But I--“_ Kili began but was interrupted by an eloquent ‘no’ in Pharaoh’s eyes.

_“I know you’re particularly drawn to the Sun, and that brings my joy. But we’re more than that. We’re everything. We are the Sky. We are the infinity. Isn’t that so much more fulfilling?”_

Kili never said the words, but for him, it wasn’t. He was just one person. He couldn’t be _everything_. Everything was endless. Infinite. Forever-frozen. It was _djet_ , and _djet_ has always frightened him, even as a small child. Whereas _neheh_ , always changing and comfortably cyclic, oftentimes felt like a soothing balm[iv].

He understood beginnings and endings. Days began in the morning and came to an end in the evening. Energy was replaced by tiredness, joy – by sadness. It was just as familiar as a tender caress of the morning sun leaking into a more insistent touch of its afternoon version and finally hiding altogether for a restful night.

Kili absent-mindedly took a big plum offered to him by a servant and bit into it. Unbearably sweet juice filled his mouth and he swallowed greedily, closing his eyes at the pleasure of it.

_“You’ll never be a human again, my son. Not in life and especially not in death. Death will stop your heart, but it will also stop everything that pulls you from your divine nature. At last, you will be the ideal version of what you were meant to be.”_

His father’s words were ringing in his ears long after he heard them. At first, Kili felt as if he would drown in them. As if he would never be able to hear anything else in his life. But the warmth of the evening air, vibrating and stubborn, kept proving him otherwise.

He was to be made a Regent tomorrow, but he wasn’t yet one.

He could yet afford the luxury of being a human.

***

“So, do you know now what ma’at is?”

He hadn’t heard that voice for seven years. His common sense was telling him, in no uncertain terms, that even if he had he wouldn’t be able to recognize it. Kili’s rational part agreed urgently with that statement, whereas his instincts decided to go for an inconvenient rebellion.

He turned around and stared, momentarily frozen on the spot by the view.

Many things were forgettable, but these golden, warm locks weren’t one of them. They looked unreal, but somehow Kili was sure that if he reached out and _touched_ their softness would prove their realness once and for all.

Instead, he swallowed and tried to blink. The sweetness of plum juice still lingered in his mouth and he was suddenly painfully aware of the dry, rough feeling in his throat and mouth. He tried, fruitlessly, to lick his lips. His mind might have formulated an answer by that point but he wasn’t at all sure he would be able to give a voice to it. At least not a human version of one.

Feeling suddenly angry, he brushed hair from his face.

The stranger was standing still, patiently awaiting for a response that he had no intention of giving.

The feeling of irritation grew within Kili, hard and heavy, and what irritated him most was that he couldn’t even give a proper name to it. It evoked all sorts of desires within him and yet he couldn’t explain any of them.

He wanted to turn away and simply walk away without a word. He wanted to stomp his feet and scream about the unfairness of all these stupid questions and emotions that they were stirring up inside of him. But he also wanted to come closer and bask in that warm, golden light. And that desire scared him most of all.

The stranger cocked his head to the side.

“It is tomorrow, isn’t it? The big day.”

Kili didn’t know whether it was an outright provocation or something far more innocent, but he didn’t much care at that point. Irritation grew into something far much sharper, expertly finding a weak spot in what was left of his restraint and finally pushing through.

“Ma’at is what my father is. What _I_ will be one day. And it’s not your right to question _any_ of that.”

The unreadable expression on the receiving end only served to fuel Kili’s fury further. He didn’t feel uncertain or weak anymore, and the freedom of that shot a wave of pleasure into his brain. That is, until seconds passed by and no response came. It was stone coldness all over again. Silence. Detachment. Calm disapproval. He wanted to scream – this time using real sounds. He wanted to demand a reaction. Or at the very least a pretense of one. By that time he could do with anything. Anything at all.

“Anything at all does not fit you,” came the response, “You can’t afford it to. Not when you’re meant to get _everything_.”

Kili almost gasped at the suddenly wild beating in his heart.

“Who are you?” he whispered, suddenly frightened.

The stranger’s expression didn’t change. But Kili no longer felt like he was being ignored. Far from it.

“It’s a story for another time. After all, what kind of a teacher would I be if I overwhelmed you with everything I know and gave you no time to process?”

Some part of Kili’s consciousness was aware of the electric jolt that went through his body at the stranger’s small smile, whereas other part was desperately trying to make sense of what he was told.

“A great one?” he whispered in response, as if in haze.

A chuckle that followed was even warmer than the smile.

“I know you’ve been understimulated for ages. But you can’t know everything now. It’s not the time yet. In fact, the only way for you to get everything would be to take it slowly.”

Kili found himself shaking his head, even more desperate now.

“I don’t want _everything_. You of all people should understand that,” he stopped, suddenly flustered, but went on, “You had given me the answer. My first real answer. You _know_ things. You…”

Suddenly awkward, Kili cut himself off, feeling more miserable than ever. It was too late to stop that explosion or pretend that it never happened, but he couldn’t continue either. He had responsibilities to his father. To himself. And none of those responsibilities included chasing ridiculous strangers and asking even more ridiculous questions. He couldn’t slip now. He couldn’t let all his efforts turn to ash.

“You see? Here is your answer,” the stranger intoned in a gentle voice that hurt something deep within Kili’s chest, “It’s not the time yet. You can’t ask your questions and I can’t answer them.”

Kili nodded his head, too overwhelmed to say anything. He didn’t want to feel the warmth radiating of that man… or whatever he was. He didn’t want to think about it afterwards. An old, seven-years-long picture in his mind was enough of reminder and enough of a pain. He couldn’t go seeking for more. He shouldn’t.

“Would you tell me your name at least?”

The sound of his own voice came as an unpleasant surprise but he couldn’t stop a sudden, burning need to know. It consumed him entirely. Nagging and demanding a payback for keeping it in shadows for so long. After all, what harm could there be from a name? At that, another thought came: one that promised him long, sleepless nights spent thinking about the one he’d forbidden himself to think about. He knew that a name was a dangerous thing[v], but in his case it would be dangerous for an entirely different reason.

“Fili.”

Kili didn’t dare try it on his tongue. Or even think about the fact that it was very inconveniently rhyming with his own name. Instead, he shook his head in silent acknowledgment, feeling incapable of lifting his eyes again.

The stran… _Fili_ said nothing further but Kili could feel his gaze directed at him. When he lifted his eyes there was no one. He tried not to think about missing his only chance to finally learn whether there existed a body behind that enticing exterior.

Frightened voices of guards shook the stillness of the evening and Kili released a put-upon sigh. Now, he would have to explain his disappearance, and, just like before, no one would be able to confirm that his strange meeting wasn’t yet another illusion. But the name, solid and peculiarly calming, was rolling insistently in his mind, and, at that moment at least, its existence seemed like the most real thing in the world.

***

Fili. He had checked that name everywhere and still come up with literally nothing. There wasn't a single living, or dying, man with that name. As a Regent, or in other words as someone who possessed immense resources, he could be sure that there was no possibility of a mistake or a failure to notice.

His father would be displeased if he learned of it, but Kili felt quite certain that in this case 'if' wasn't likely to turn into 'when'. He might have resented some of responsibilities, but it would be disingenuous to deny that these responsibilities came with certain, very convenient, privileges. Not unlike his father, he was respected and, most importantly, he was obeyed. At first, that fact evoked little else rather than faint, somewhat jittery confusion from him, but as the months, years went by inescapability, consistency of it turned into a habit. He could find no better word for it.

He didn't enjoy it but he learned not to resent it either. It was simply there, a solid fact of his life. Akin to the fact that sky was always up and earth was always down. He still couldn't quite reach the level of satisfaction that was displayed daily by his father. He didn't think he ever would. But the overall decrease in disapproving glances was enough of a reward as far as he was concerned.

As the searched went on and turned out fruitless, his frustration kept reaching worrying lengths. He didn’t know if he was ready to ask questions and receive answers for them, but one thing was clear: he was certainly ready to receive some explanation as to why he was told the name that literally didn’t seem to exist anywhere on earth. Could it be that he was played? Kili’s subconsciousness tirelessly kept giving the same answer. Fili – or whoever he was – couldn’t lie but at the same time say a lie with such an amount of sincerity as to leave a permanent trace in Kili’s soul. And, however much Kili might have wanted, _needed_ , to deny that, it was nothing if not truthful.

He also realized that his attempt to actively seek a meeting would be fruitless at best and frustrating at worst. He needed something else. Something more creative.

This man – creature – was obviously interested in him and, therefore, he would most likely be interested in his well-being. Which meant that endangering that well-being could be just the right way to send the message.

Ditching guards was much more difficult than before but not at all impossible. Kili hadn’t quite perfected the art of being deceitful and cunning, but he could still lie convincingly when he wanted to. And most of his guards would be gullible enough to believe him.

Next morning, everything would be set into motion. He could wait no longer. He needed to know the truth. Or at least something that resembled one. He needed to _know_.

Whoever, or _whatever_ , Fili was, Kili was going to get his answers. A quiet voice inside him told him that answers might just not be enough, but Kili shrugged it off and decided to focus on his excitement instead. It felt great to be excited after months, years, of dull ‘work first, play second’ routine.

Tomorrow, he was going to play to his heart’s content, and he wasn’t going to stop until the game was won.

***

He wasn't going to die, that was completely out of the question and frankly ridiculous, but he was nevertheless glad that the guards haven't caught up to him yet. He had much more exciting business to attend to.

Fili wore a furious look of someone who had just provided the saving but was too annoyed to request a thank you, or need one for that matter. Kili fidgeted a bit under the look, feeling woefully un-royal. Still, he was never one for refusing to push things, and this time wasn't going to be any exception.

He needed to process something first, though. In a daring rescue attempt, Fili had caught him in his arms and they were still touching now... which meant that Fili had a solid, physical body. Kili felt a breath hitch in his throat. It was definitely one of the clues to the riddle. But he still needed more information. He needed more.

"Have you just risked your _life_ to satisfy your obsession with puzzles?"

Kili felt like someone lit a fire inside him.

"So you _do_ admit there is a puzzle?"

Fili gave him an incredulous look, still breathing heavily. His eyes shifted to his hand on Kili’s arm and he quickly pulled away. A moment later, his features transformed, revealing a new expression – one that Kili had never seen before. He didn’t like it one bit.

“Alright. What is your theory?”

So, here they were again. The damned teacher act. He wasn’t going to fall for it this time.

“I don’t have enough _facts_ to form one yet,” he said, trying to appear in control.

Fili’s expression didn’t change. Instead, he circled around Kili, only pausing to stand right behind him.

Kili forced himself not to turn his head and tried to steady his breathing.

“So, fact one: You can’t find my name anywhere, so you assumed it doesn’t exist. Correct?”

Kili nodded, dismayed at the lengthy pause that followed. He wanted to ask for more but at the same time feared that Fili would refuse to talk altogether in he pushed.

“Fact two: you can touch me, so I must be a real person. Not a ghost certainly because ghosts don’t have a physical body.”

Kili nodded even more eagerly and, no longer able to bear anticipation, tried to turn his head. A hand on his shoulder froze him in place.

He fought the urge to protest and tried to distract himself by looking at the whirl of sand dancing impatiently in the air.

“Fact three: every time you see me, no one else is around, so you can’t even be sure I’m not an illusion.”

Kili shook his head no, suddenly irritated.

“Why not?” Fili asked.

He didn’t want to play the game anymore, so he turned around, sharply, and fixed his eyes on Fili’s.

“Don’t be ridiculous! Of course you’re not an illusion. I know _that_ at least, even if everything else is bunch of stupid riddles.”

Contrary to his expectations, Fili tried no more escaping acts. And his eyes were finally genuine. Open. Still, Kili had trouble recognizing the expression.

“You are sure I’m not an illusion, and yet you’ve only seen me two times in your life and no reasonable fact can prove my existence. Don’t you see a problem with that?”

“Not at the moment, no. The problem is that you give me hints, expect me to figure them out and then try to convince me you’re an illusion and it was all… a game? A fruit of my delirious imagination? _That_ is the problem.”

Fili gave him a quick glance and lowered his eyes. Kili felt a weak spark of satisfaction. He wasn’t sure it even meant anything, but it was certainly better than the earlier ‘mysterious detachment’ mode.

“You didn’t want to know any of that the last time we met,” Fili said quietly.

Kili frowned, trying to explain but finding no words.

“I did,” he said, simply.

“But I couldn’t,” he added in his mind, suddenly overwhelmed by the memory of insecurity and doubt.

Fili nodded in acknowledgement, as if accepting his reluctance to talk about it.

“What do you want to know?” 

Kili physically shivered. He could finally ask the question and receive an answer. He could finally…

“Will you come again?”

Fili’s eyes widened.

“Is that your question?”

Kili sighed and looked at his feet. Of all the things he could ask… He could learn who Fili was. He could learn the purpose behind his visits. And yet, the only thing he cared about now was… the possibility of another such visit? It was ridiculous. Fili probably also thought it was ridiculous. How could he not?

“I will. And you don’t have to engage in any sand accidents to make that happen.”

Kili couldn’t fight a smile attempting to split his face. The sand felt warm and delightfully unsteady under his feet. He tried to balance himself out and nearly fell over. A tight grip on his hand raised his delight to the level he never knew existed. He made the show of being confused, but, judging by Fili’s expression, he didn’t buy it one bit.

“When you come again… will you tell me things I don’t know?” he asked, almost afraid to heart the answer.

“No. But I will tell you things you _think_ you don’t know, so you can know them better.”

Kili nodded, feeling simultaneously sad and elated.

“Why not now?”

Fili gave him a compassionate look.

“Because you have to learn these things for yourself first.”

“Like I did with your name?” Kili whispered.

“No. Like you did with your desire to see me again. Your desire to _know_.”

Kili cleared his throat and pretended that he wasn’t aware of the blush on his cheeks.

“Well, then I guess you are dismissed,” he said, trying to sound official and matter-of-factly.

“You can’t dismiss a part of you, my future Pharaoh.”

“Wha--“

The word stuck in Kili’s throat and he lost his balance falling into the sand. This time, there was no one to catch him.

***

 _A part of him_. Kili had fumed for days, for weeks but the outrageous statement refused to leave his mind.

He regretted letting go of his chance to ask _real_ questions and yet, the memory of golden locks and warm, sometimes scaldingly hot voice, turned these regrets into a reasonable remark that should’ve carried much weight but for some reason didn’t.

His days were exhausting enough, so he didn’t dream. A relentless flow of thoughts and theories attacking his mind in the waking hours was more than enough. And yet, the voice inside him insisted that he wouldn’t find the answer, however hard he tried.

So he pushed down his anger and _want_ , busying himself with a similarly relentless flow of responsibilities. Step by step, he acquired experience. Experience produced ease and eventually, subtly, led him to a comforting refuge of confidence. He learned to be detached. He learned to advise with the fire of someone who knew that he was right. He learned to show determination and stubbornness without confusing the two. He learned to be compliant without seeing it as a weakness. He leaned to attack and retreat. The only thing he couldn’t learn was not to think about _that_ day, and that in itself was a weakness. A distraction.

The guards followed him even more closely than before. He knew they must have suspected something from their past experiences, but of course they would not say, even if asked. He was the son of a Pharaoh, and any his action was a given. It wasn’t yet divine in the full sense of the word, but it was still a word to be obeyed and never questioned. Which served his purposes just fine.

When he called Fili’s name he hadn’t even bothered to send them off. The guards were simply standing there, confused and a little bit frightened. Kili suppressed a smirk. At least he wouldn’t be the only one going crazy.

Fili appeared right away, with what sounded like a very loud snap.

The guards looked at each other and Kili gave them a measured look. Apparently, they could hear but couldn’t see. They eyes remained unfocused and filled with a silent question they would never dare voice.

Kili looked to the side to hide a smile.

“You can leave,” he said to them calmly, as if everything was perfectly ordinary. The guards nodded, seemingly calmed by his order, and left.

Fili gave him an incredulous look and shook his head.

“Did you think they would see me?”

Kili refused to smile.

“Just needed to test a theory. Or rather, one third of a theory,” he said, managing, just, to keep his voice firm, and added, “And now I’m going to test the remaining two thirds.”

“Are you really?”

Kili gave him a polite half-smile and cocked his head to the side.

“Yes. I have two questions for you. You will answer them and stop being a distraction.”

“A _distraction_?” Fili sounded almost offended and Kili suppressed the feeling of triumph threatening to emerge.

“Exactly. I regret to be so blunt, but your riddles disturb my peace, and I’d rather have it. You know, royal and responsibilities and duties… you simply can’t afford the luxury of not paying your full attention.”

Fili’s eyebrows shot up, amusement clear in his face.

“That’s a nice way of talking . Have you been taking lessons?”

Kili forbade himself to react to that. Instead he cleared his throat, feeling a brief relief when the sensation and sound of it distracted him from approaching irritation.

“So, my first question: who are you and what is your purpose? Before you say anything, it’s one question because I believe that your existence is a direct result of your purpose. And the second question, or more precisely a request: you will explain to me the meaning of _everything_ you said that I find unclear.”

Amusement on Fili’s face didn’t melt into indignation as Kili had expected. On the contrary, it seemed to grow in strength.

“And what if I refuse and disappear right now?”

“You can’t disappear again!”

“ _Can’t_ I?”

A slight smile entered Fili’s face. Kili tried not to pay attention to how beautiful it was. Instead, he took a deep breath and made his voice as even as he could. 

“You _may not_ disappear again. I forbid it,” he answered, holding out his hand in a ‘don’t’ gesture that seemed to miraculously settle the wild beating of the heart in his chest. It was still far from being a confidence of a future ruler, but it did help clear his head, even for a short second.

Fili eyed him with what almost looked like an approval, and Kili was instantly pushed into the past. Into a lingering, painful uncertainty of it. He swallowed, refusing to feel anything but determination. Fili _owed_ him these answers. And he would get them today.

Judging by compliance in Fili’s eyes, he seemed to agree. Kili couldn’t quite fight the feeling of trepidation from that fact.

***

“We can't be one person!” Kili cried, losing the last shreds of his patience at the ridiculousness of the ‘explanation’ he was being offered.

A part of him. A damn _literal_ part of him. As if that wasn’t completely ridiculous to even consider.

“We are not. We are different versions of one per--“

“Is it much better? Should I be overjoyed?”

Fili gave him an indulgent glance.

“It is what it is, Kili. Things happen, even if you don’t want them to. I thought you'd have realized that by now. Considering your station.”

“No, don't do that. Don't you dare do that damn passive-aggressive act. I get enough of these from my father and you aren't like him at all. So don't even try.”

Fili looked almost guilty and Kili realized that he'd forgiven him even before the words found their way out. Somehow, any other route felt impossible.

“We're _not_ one person. I'm a part of you that is going to die and be reborn again and again throughout the centuries. A part of your soul. Your Akh[vi].”

Of course, Kili knew of existence of different, often confusing versions of souls but weren’t they meant to appear after death? How could he meet one while he still lived?

His head was spinning.

“So I will die,” he said quietly, startled by the ridiculousness of what came out of his mouth. Of course he knew he would die one day. Everyone did. But the feeling of being faced with it, the mere idea of it, didn’t at all match the feeling of reading a fairy-tale with a similar occurrence.

He looked at Fili and let a deep sadness overwhelm him. Fili seemed to be in no better shape.

“Not before you live,” Fili replied, gripping him by the shoulders and not letting go, “Not before you’ll do everything, _be_ everything.”

Kili shook his head, refusing to meet Fili’s eyes. Fili gripped him tighter.

“Why do you think I could come to you? _Who_ made it possible? You created me. I’m the undying part of you. A part which knows no borders in time. That’s why I could come. And that’s why I will come again.”

Kili shook his head again, this time weaker. A wave of nausea threatened to deprive him of the ability to stand.

“Are you… _djet_?” he whispered harshly.

Fili laughed a humorous laugh, and for a fraction of a second, Kili hated him for it.

“No. Although I’m certain it was _djet_ that made it all possible. A time which set in stone no matter how many centuries pass. No matter whether they go backwards or forward. Just always there.”

Fili’s whisper now matched Kili’s.

Today, that peculiar occurrence would’ve been called an ‘alternative universe’, but neither Fili nor Kili knew that name. Still, although deprived of knowledge, they weren’t deprived of belief that was staring them right in the face.

 _You are everything_. Kili froze and listened to that simple and yet terrifying phase in his head. Apparently he was… everything, or would be in the future anyway.

“Are you the part of me that will live up in the stars, cold and indifferent?”

Kili knew the answer to his question before Fili could even begin to voice it. And they were both perfectly aware of that.

“I still would have been there, among the stars, if I was. I wouldn’t have come. I wouldn’t be able to.”

It was true. It was much more true than Kili wished it to be and yet the second part of that answer was still left unsaid. Alas, Kili knew it only too well.

A radiant, full-of-life Fili, _his_ Fili, was the furthest thing from coldness or indifference. Real of not, ethereal or earth-bound, nothing could ever change that fact.

He couldn’t be _neheh_ either because _neheh_ was ever-changing. It never remained in one place, or one moment. It went away to never come back again. But just like his Fili, it was warm in its predictability and steadiness. Warm and steady, despite everything that could hinder it. Despite any battles that might have been lost[vii]. The conclusion was seemingly easy but Kili didn’t dare make it. So he did the only thing he could. He asked.

“So who _are_ you?” In other circumstances, he would have been embarrassed by his begging voice, but now his mind refused to make a place for embarrassment. 

Fili closed his eyes, as if in defeat.

“I am not sure,” he said, so quietly that Kili could barely make out the words.

But then his eyes opened and they had same fervent energy that made Kili feel warm inside.

“But I _am_ a part of you. That’s all I’ve ever known. The _only_ truth of which I can be sure.”

“My _best part_ you want to say,” Kili whispered, feeling a sudden need to talk, not ask or answer but simply talk, “What happened to other parts? Are they there, among the stars?”

Fili thought on that for a moment and when he started speaking again his voice was too gentle to bear.

“I’ve never witnessed your death. Not yet anyway. So I’ve never seen what happens after. And I… I really don’t want to.” Kili would like to think that he only imagined trembling in Fili’s voice but he couldn’t be completely sure. His mind was growing increasingly foggy and there was but one way to prevent that.

“Pharaohs are destined to become stars. They say that there are no exceptions. But I could never believe it. Because with what are you really left? You live in coldness only to die in coldness? That never seemed fair. And it doesn’t now. _Especially_ now,” Kili caught his breath and went on, “I didn’t think I could live this life. I loved the Sun, the warmth. I still do. I wanted to love. To be loved. To--“

“And you still do,” Fili finished for him, and when Kili looked in his eyes there were tears there.

“Do you see now why I couldn’t tell you? You weren’t ready to know that.”

“Am I _now_?” Kili asked with a touch of bitterness that surprised even him.

“Yes,” Fili nodded, serious and almost triumphant. “You still wish for these things, but you can also live without them by now. You’ve learned to find enjoyment in other, lesser things, but things which are just as crucial for survival of your spirit. And yet, you’ve never lost that need, that urge completely. And you will never do. If you don’t believe me, I’m the living example of that truth.”

“How could you… _I_ remain so--“

“Warm? Real? It’s possible that _neheh_ helped with that. But it couldn’t have done it without _djet_ as _neheh_ is warm but quickly passing and _djet_ is cold but long-lasting. I know of no instance when these two combined. And I suspect I never will, but if you ask for an explanation, it’s the closest thing I can give you.”

Kili tried to process the words, feeling the pieces of a puzzle clicking together.

“So that’s why I’m so attracted to--“

“The Sun?” Fili smiled, looking like an embodiment of one himself.

Kili nodded.

“It could be. The sun is _neheh_. In fact, it’s much more _neheh_ -like than anything else. Everyone knows that. Everyone _feels_ that at least.”

“But everyone chooses _djet_ ,” Kili added.

“Yes. _Djet_ is the future of this dynasty. It’s what will remain in centuries. It’s what will be talked about when everything else is ash.”

Kili shook his head, confused.

“So why--“

“Because _neheh_ is just as important. Sooner or later, it will be understood. You’d felt it yourself. You’d felt it since you met me for the first time. Or at least you thought you did.”

“No, I didn’t _think_ that. It was _you_ who stirred that in me, it was-“

“You’re mistaken,” Fili said, but the words had zero bite to them. “I simply fleshed it out for you. You can call it a push if you like. It was all within you long before you saw me.”

Kili was pretty much sure he understood, or at least he understood what could be understood per se, but one thing still made little sense.

“But I will have to _do_ something for all that to happen, won’t I? I will have to change things?”

Fili shook his head sadly.

“I can’t answer. My existence is only possible if I don’t make predictions about future. You have to experience that journey for yourself. You have to rise, set, engage into a battle and win, doing exactly what you need every step of the way – no more and no less.”

“Like the Sun,” Kili said.

“Like the Sun[viii],” Fili echoed. “There can be no night without day.

“Life and death. Merry and sad. One doesn’t exist without the other. And that’s why the world is never just one thing, but a dance of different things,” Kili intoned, quoting seemingly forgotten words from the time that felt positively fairytale-ish. And it probably was.

Fili let out an incredulous, fond chuckle.

“Well, I can now rest safely in knowledge that you definitely know what ma’at is.”

Kili’s response consisted of a chuckle and a quiet, tender embrace that seemed to fill him with life all over again.

“I think I now know what you meant by _everything_ ,” he whispered, never taking his face off Fili’s neck.

“So do I,” came an equally gentle response, and Kili could’ve sworn that the body under his arms became somehow warmer.

At that moment, he was certain that he would never be cold again.

Notes:

[i] Taken from the description of the end of the world in ancient Egyptian understanding.

[ii] Although in Egypt death is traditionally viewed as a continuation of one’s life’s journey, not its end, it still brought plenty of grief, especially untimely death of children. Besides, this takes place BEFORE the foundation of pyramids and other advanced body (soul)-preserving rituals, which in turn means more anxiety associated with one’s ability to keep the body intact and, therefore, ensure it passes smoothly into the next world.

[iii] According to Egyptian theology, there was a time when there was no death - before the heavens and the earth as created. It's not clear how death came to be.

[iv] _Neheh_ is our usual understanding of time as something that comes and goes. Something constantly changing but at the same time cyclic. For instance, a sun’s daily cycle is _neheh_.

 _Djet_ is unfamiliar to us. Sometimes it’s mistakenly described as ‘space’ because it’s: a) stable, b) always completed, c) exists on a global scale. In other words, it’s a time that has already underwent all possible changes and reaches a completely new – ethereal – level. The most eloquent example would be a star-filled night sky as a representation of the universe. For us, it’s obviously space, but for ancient Egyptians it was a version of time.

[v] Egyptians believed that name carried a special power. Pharaohs’ real names were never used and replaced with their regal names.

[vi] Akh is the immortal, transformed self.

[vii] Reference to the Sun’s – Ra’s – daily, or rather nightly, battle with Apep, a serpent who represented chaos, which is the main 'enemy' of ma’at.

[viii] It’s a reflection of Ra’s daily journey: rising in the morning, setting in the evening and a nightly fight with Apep, defeating of whom gives him the chance to rise again and continue the cycle.


End file.
